


Suteko Shizuya, and Who S(he) Became

by That_Adorable_Fox



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: !NOT A VENT FIC!, Angst, Childhood Trauma, Other, Past Child Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Trans Male Character, Trans Saihara Shuichi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 15:01:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30141348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Adorable_Fox/pseuds/That_Adorable_Fox
Summary: Suteko, who she is, and who she will be~or~My take on Shuichi's past!TW!sxxual assaultabxsive parentingDietinglanguageMentions of sxicide
Comments: 1
Kudos: 39





	Suteko Shizuya, and Who S(he) Became

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is okay haha. I wasn't really going to post it because I thought it would be too heavy, too out of character. But I decided to anyway because I put lotsa work into this, so why not? haha
> 
> Im writing a lot of Shuichi recently because he's my comfort character, but I really have to emphasize that this is NOT a vent fic. I haven't had any of these experiences, and because of that I tried to keep them vague-ish. This is insensitive to write please let me know and I'll remove it, I dont want to offend anyone!!  
> With that, be warned of the TWS, and enjoy.

Suteko Shizuya was a beautiful little girl. 

That was what the photographers told her. And the fashion designers, and the makeup artists and the paparazzi that was always trailing her and her parents. 

That was what her mother’s fellow actors told her, they would even prove so by grabbing her body when no one was looking. They would compliment her hips,  ~~_ -you’re going to grow up to be a curvy little slut- _ ~~ they would compliment her small build,  ~~_ - _ _ I sure hope your chest grows up with you- _ ~~ and they loved to compliment her parents  ~~_ -be grateful you’re such a filthy, spoiled, rich kid. _ ~~

But they never complimented her voice. 

They tried to, but Suteko would refuse to speak. 

Whenever someone asked her something, they would stare at them ashamedly and lower her head. They had taken everything, except for her voice. She didn't want them to take her beautiful voice. 

Her parents tried to take her voice. They screamed at her, throwing slurs and curses and  _ “mute” _ at her like candy. They never laid a hand on her, but they never needed to. It hurt like glass shards piercing her heart. She would sign  _ no, no, stop, please, _ with sloppy hands but her parents just stared and glared and called her a “r***rd”, whatever that meant. 

The very first time she spoke was when she was six years old, in an interview she never wanted to go to, in a dress that itched with short sleeves and a skirt that ended at her upper thighs. The lights, the cameras, the questions, it was all so much. She thought she was doing okay, she put on a numb face and never looked at the camera or the interviewer directly. She didn't fidget, she sat up straight, and she planted her feet on the ground (even if she had to scooch so far on her seat to do so.)

But the man started teasing her, saying that the beautiful voice of hers was going to waste, what a shame it was that she was a  _ mute _ .

And all at once, time slowed down and reality felt floaty and uncomfortable. 

He just said mute, that was all, but everything Suteko could hear was the slurs, the curses, the screams, and the word that hurt so much whenever it was aimed at her-

_ Breathe, you’re live. _ She reminded herself. She couldn't feel the floor, or the chair, or even her itchy, short dress. 

_“...I'm not a mute.”_ She had whispered, looking down. She hoped no one could hear her, but they had. Everyone had. Everyone watching, everyone in the audience, her parents.

The noise that came after was overwhelmingly loud. It hurt her ears and gave her an awful headache. Then, it didn't matter if she was on live TV. She flinched and pulled her legs to her chest and gripped her hair and started to shake. She sobbed silently into her knees, pressing her legs together and praying no one would look at her underwear, or her legs, or her hips, or  _ her _ . 

_ Please, don't look at me, I’m no one special. Stop looking at me like I am. _

Someone was grabbing her arms, grabbing her legs, carrying her back stage like she was a doll. Their grip hurt, her head hurt, her mother’s high heeled footsteps on the wood floor hurt her ears.

Suteko couldn't remember anything else that happened afterward. 

* * *

Suteko was hungry.

In the past few months, her mother had found new diets online for her daughter to try. 

_ “Now that you’re growing older, we have to make sure you keep your slim figure!”  _ She had said, holding a magazine open. 

Suteko had hated it from the beginning. She hated every idea her mother proposed to her. 

Breakfast skipped, a light, healthy lunch lunch, dinner skipped, and a bunch of diet smoothies all throughout the day. The article claimed it was healthier than eating three meals a day, but Suteko had to disagree. She hated going to bed on an empty stomach, she hated feeling lightheaded and dizzy, and she hated the disgusting shakes that made the numbers on the scale drop lower and lower. 

She opened the door to her room and crept out. It was late, almost three in the morning. But she couldn't sleep yet, she had a plan. Suteko skipped stairs she knew would creak and made her way to the kitchen. Very quietly, she opened the pantry and took out a loaf of bread. Every noise seemed to be amplified as she took out two slices and toasted them in the toaster oven, stopping the toaster before it could ding. She took a paper plate and quickly buttered the pieces of toast. 

She bit into the bread, smiling softly, but her relief was shattered by a quiet  _ click _ of the door’s lock. A stranger in white opened the door. A tall man with red hair entered, followed by a shorter boy that looked about her age with purple hair. They both wore clown masks, but were decorated differently. She stared at them, and they stared back, not expecting her to be awake. 

Suteko felt fear bubble up in her throat. They were going to tell her parents, and then her parents would make her throw the toast up and she’d go the bed hungry again-

Or, even worse, they were going to kidnap her and hold her for ransom. Maybe they would kill her before her parents noticed she was missing. Would she end up like the kids in the newspaper? Would her life be cut short before she could experience happiness?!

Suteko stuffed the toast in her mouth, backing away from them. She pushed her hands to her mouth, trying to will the tears from her eyes. 

_ Leave,  _ she signed clumsily.  _ Don't tell anyone you saw me and I won't tell anyone I saw you.  _

“Aww, that wouldn't be any fun now would it?” The purple haired boy teased, and Suteko felt like she would cry.

_ Please, don't tell anyone you saw me eat and I’ll go back upstairs and leave you alone. _

The red haired teen blinked, looking back down at the purple haired boy.

“...are they…are you okay?” The boy asked, softer. 

Suteko stared at them. She was about to force herself to nod when-

_ “WHO GOES THERE?!” _

Suteko squeaked, stuffing the plate into the garbage can and looking around for a place to hide. She ducked under the kitchen island and watched as the two boys left the house. 

The purple one stared at her for a bit longer than was comfortable before fleeing with his friend.

Suteko never went down to the kitchen in the middle of the night again, hunger be damned.

* * *

The magazine she starred in was one for girls clothes.

The posed her pale body in a frilly blue dress, a fake smile plastered onto her face.

For some reason, it made Suteko sick.

She hated dresses now. She hated how girly they made her look, she hated how long her hair was, she hated her name, and how it quite literally meant “abandoned child.”

She hated being a girl. She hated it so much. 

She hated it when her father’s fellow screenwriters would squeeze her thighs or trace circles on her butt, she hated the jokes they made about how fuckable she was, how submissive, how weak.

She hated when they took it further than comments and subtle touches.

It was when she was eight did she realize there was a thing called transgender. One of her mother’s colleagues had come out as a trans male. Her mother had cursed him and called him slurs behind his back, all while Suteko was cutting her hair short in the bathroom a floor below. 

It was also when she was eight did her mother lay a hand upon her for the first and last time. 

Her cheek stung from the slap, her eyes burning from tears that rolled silently down her face. Her mother screamed and screamed while her father frantically dialed a priest and a barber.

Suteko was numb. She didn't care anymore. She truly didn't care.

* * *

~~ She ~~ he was nine, practically ten, when Detective Saihara, an uncle who he barely knew, came to pick him up. His mother and father faked their tears, kissed his face, told him  _ what a pretty girl you are _ and picked up their bags. 

They had gone on trips without him before, but this one…this one was longer. 

This one was forever. 

He watched as they climbed into the limo, waving to Suteko as they were whisked off to the airport.

The car drove away, and Sute- no, Shuichi,- Shuichi just smiled and laughed.

Everything was over. The photoshoots, the diets, the paparazzi, the groping, it was all over. His uncle looked down at him, and saw Shuichi crying happy tears. His uncle crouched down and gave Shuichi a big, gentle hug. There was no grabbing of his body, no lewd comments, just the reassuring hand rubbing his back in a calming manner and his uncle’s deep voice reassuring him  _ you will be safe with me, I promise. I will never hurt you. _ His aunt put a hand on his head, stroking his hair.

Shuichi sobbed and cried until his body was tired and his uncle had to carry him to the car (a regular car. No limo, no fancy cadillac, just a regular car).

* * *

_ “I’m a boy.”  _ He confessed to them the next day.  _ “My name is Shuichi. Shuichi...Saihara.” _

His aunt had cried, hugging him close, his uncle had grinned proudly at him. 

They took him shopping, cut his hair, bought him binders, brought him to a therapist. They took him to the pride parade, got him a flag, and treated him like their own son. 

Each and every time, Shuichi cried. 

_ I don't deserve your kindness, _ he would say each time.  _ Please, let me repay you. _

His uncle and aunt shook their heads and smiled.  _ You don't need to repay us, you are our son.  _

So, he took up working at his uncle’s detective agency. It was fun, he had to admit, he liked puzzles and using his head. The tutor that had taught him throughout his youth had taught him quickly, and skipped him a few grades higher. School was just solving things in different formats. 

It was the same with the detective work.

His uncle was so impressed with the little cases he kept solving, he went to Shuichi for more opinions on a murder case. 

And Shuichi solved it.

* * *

He was brought to the house where they arrested the culprit. He was struggling, the cuffs on his hands jangling with every jerk of his body. It was then when the culprit confessed.

_ “Abusive…father….drove her to suicide…”  _

Shuichi’s stomach dropped to the floor. The color drained from his face. 

Every experience under  _ their  _ care came back full force, smacking into him like his mother’s hand. 

The eyes of the culprit drilled into his brain. He glared at Shuichi. If looks could kill, the boy detective would have been dead a thousand times over.

His uncle guided him back to the car, giving him a cookie and water bottle. 

Shuichi felt too sick to consume either. 

He threw up when they got home. He threw up his lunch, and any water that entered his throat. When there was nothing left in his body, he dry heaved until he was exhausted. His aunt was by his side the whole time, rubbing his back and coaxing him out of his jacket and binder. 

After, they fed him a light soup and helped him take his anxiety and depression medicine. They brought him to the couch and curled up on either side of him, turning on his favorite movie and rubbing his back. 

The next day, his uncle presented him with a hat, with hand-embroidered stars by his aunt. 

The invitation letter to Hope’s Peak Academy found its way to their door only two days later, so Shuichi donned his hat and packed his bags.

With his uncle and aunt cheering him on, he was going to search for the truth, and he would not be scared of it. 

**Author's Note:**

> my head canon is that Shuichi took his uncle's last name to show his thankfulness to them, also to distance himself from his parents hehe.


End file.
